Vivid Dream, Dreaded Reality
by ElinaLin
Summary: Missing scene in Tintin in Tibet. 'His heart was crushed when he knew that Chang was likely to be dead in the mountains. He really shouldn't have underestimated the dream – it turned out to be real.' Dreams are often said to be a prediction of the future. When Tintin dreamed a dreaded dream about Chang, he wished for it to be a simple dream, but nothing was ever simple with Tintin.


It wasn't just a simple dream.

Tintin knew that. The moment he stepped into his room after the 'sneezing incident' while playing chess with the captain he knew that his 'dream' wasn't just a dream.

It was too real, far too vivid. The way Chang was calling him, yelling out the word 'help' so desperately, was too real to be a dream. But he wished for it to be a dream. He wouldn't want to actually see Chang in the deserted snowy field, in the middle of a snowstorm, half-buried in snow and severely injured, calling out to him while he couldn't even reach to help him. No, it couldn't be real… what could possibly put Chang into that situation anyway? Chang wasn't even half as curious as Tintin, who was practically a danger magnet. Surely he wouldn't get into that kind of situation.

"Come on, Snowy," Tintin sighed, "It's probably just fatigue. Let's just sleep for tonight."

Snowy yipped happily, as if telling Tintin that he had been waiting for him to say that.

Tintin changed into his pajamas and laid down on his bed, his mind full of Chang and the snowy field. He closed his eyes, wishing that sleep would soon claim him, so that he could free himself of the plaguing scenes in his mind.

He was walking alone in the middle of a golden field. Everything seemed to be perfect, except for the fact that he was alone.

"If only Snowy is here with me," Tintin muttered to himself. "Or Captain. He would make a fine companion. Oh, or Chang. He's a very nice friend…" He actually didn't really like to be alone. He used to be alone at all times, years ago, but the loneliness was too unbearable, which was the reason why he took Snowy with him. Then, after he knew Chang, Captain Haddock, Thompson and Thomson, and practically everyone he knew about, he found out that he couldn't live without them. They were too annoying (sometimes), too caring (usually the captain, though his words would be peppered with curses), too much like a family.

Tintin kept walking through the golden field, feeling his fingers through the weeds. He sat down on the ground and watched as the sun set, regretting that he didn't bring his camera with him. He didn't usually bring his camera around, because it was the story that mattered for him, not really the picture, but the saying 'a picture is worth a thousand words' had been proven true, so Tintin usually made sure he had at least one camera in his bag… which he wouldn't bring with him anyway.

"Tintin…"

Tintin's body went rigid when he heard that voice. It sounded eerily familiar to his ears, and not because he knew the owner of the voice. He had heard it before, calling him out in the exact same manner.

"Tintin… help…"

Tintin immediately shot to his feet, looking around desperately. Where? Where was Chang? Why did he sound so desperate, so scared, calling Tintin as if he was his last hope of living?

"Help, Tintin… Help!"

"Chang! Where are you?"

Tintin ran to where he thought Chang was calling him from. He ran, and ran, and ran, but it seemed that he could never reach Chang, who remained so far away from him, invisible to his eyes. He could still hear Chang's calls, but it felt more like it was in his head rather than from around him. Over the time, he grew more and more anxious; did Chang really called out to him, or was it all just in his head? Nevertheless, he called out for Chang. He couldn't risk Chang's safety… he had a feeling that Chang might be in danger if he didn't get to him soon.

Slowly, the golden surrounding him changed into pure white. The warm evening air turned chilly, and little by little snow poured from the sky before changing completely into a snowstorm. Tintin was still running, but it was getting difficult; the snow was too thick, the storm was making it hard for him to see, and the cold weather was making it difficult do actually move his muscles. But he wouldn't stop. If Chang was really there… if Chang really needed his help…

And then, he saw him; Chang, standing alone in the middle of white, seemingly unconcerned about the pouring snow around him. He was facing Tintin, but Tintin wasn't able to see his face because of the falling snow. How he knew it was Chang was beyond him. A mental link? Maybe, but Tintin would prefer a scientific explanation if there was one offered to him.

"Chang," Tintin said in relief. "Why didn't you answer me? I've been calling for you."

Chang didn't answer him. But then, to Tintin's surprise, Chang's clothes slowly changed, now tainted in red. Tintin drew a sharp intake of breath. What was that? What was wrong with Chang?

"Chang…?" Tintin called, voice trembling, a dreadful sense of fright creeping in his stomach.

"Tintin…" Chang called back, and this time the voice was both in Tintin's head and outside of it. "Help me…"

With that, Chang fell face-first to the snow.

He would later question himself if he really did scream, as he felt that everything was in a blur and he didn't really register all that he was doing, but he did feel like screaming. Tintin pushed himself forward, hurling himself to Chang, wanting to do everything that he could to help him, but he felt that something was holding him in place. He couldn't get closer to Chang. He wondered if there were walls of glass around Chang, since he couldn't get closer to him. He banged at the invisible wall, calling Chang until all his voice was gone, until he lost feelings in his hands because of the cold, until his lips were blue and his teeth were chattering hard. He did all he could do to help Chang, yet there was nothing he could do. In his mind, the image of his friend laying prone in the snow, half-buried and bleeding, his voice begging for help, wouldn't let Tintin have his peace. Tintin kept banging his hands on the barrier, even punching and kicking it to grant himself the access to Chang's side, but to no avail. He was still away from Chang. Able to see his suffering, but unable to actually do something to help.

Tintin felt hopeless. He gave people justice, he brought the criminals to the law to be judged and receive punishments as they deserved, he reported wars and crimes, he was nicknamed as the invincible young reporter, yet he couldn't do anything to save a dear friend of his. Tears of desperation and helplessness started to pool in his eyes.

"Help! Tintin, help me…!"

"_CHANG!"_

His eyes snapped open in surprise. His breaths were coming in short pants. His voice was hoarse, his throat dry. He was drenched in sweat. His pillow had somehow ended across the room, and his blanket was on the floor.

A whine snapped him out of his stupor. He looked down to see Snowy, staring at him with large, concerned eyes.

"Don't worry, Snowy," said Tintin. "It was only a dream." Yes, it was only a dream. Surely it was just a bad dream.

…

… Right?

His heart was crushed when he knew that Chang was likely to be dead in the mountains. He really shouldn't have underestimated the dream – it turned out to be real.

But something in the back of his mind told him that Chang was still alive. He must be. Tintin could feel it, somehow, that Chang was still there, waiting for Tintin to come for the rescue. Haddock might call it a stupid persistence, but Tintin was sure that Chang was still alive. He knew so.

That was why he was going to save him.

Haddock had told him not to go, but realizing that Tintin was too stubborn to back down, he chose to come with him. Truthfully, Tintin felt relieved when Haddock decided to come with him. He felt more secured that way. But he knew, even if Haddock didn't come, he would go anyway. Chang needed him. No, he needed Chang to be alright. He needed him to, possibly more than Chang needed his help. Chang was like a brother to him, and he wouldn't let his family die on him. Not once. Not ever.

He knew he sounded like a lunatic. Even Snowy was staring at him incredulously, as if thinking, "God, help me! Tintin's gone mad! All those hits he got in the head must have finally taken their toll on him!" Well, he couldn't deny it. Even he himself found that he was behaving like a madman. But he had to go. He needed to go.

He packed his bags, face devoid of the usual friendliness. His lips were set in a firm line, his jaws clenched, brows furrowed and eyes grim. He would soon go rescue Chang, with the aid of a certain sea captain that was sure to constantly nag and curse his stubbornness issue. But at least he wasn't alone. Because if he was, Tintin wasn't sure he'd be able to stop worrying about Chang instead of focusing on scaling the mountains and climbed up. He knew mountains were dangerous, and daydreaming there would probably be the stupidest idea he would have.

"Wait for me, Chang," Tintin muttered to the empty air, "I'll save you, even if that's the last thing I do."

* * *

A/N: why the hell did I even write this...?

OK, so I think I wrote this one because one day, when I was rereading the Tintin in Tibet, I noticed that in the morning before Tintin received Chang's letter he said that he didn't sleep a wink (don't mind the incorrect phrase) because he'd been thinking about Chang the whole time. Then, BOOM. Rabid plot bunny attack, and POP, this story was created. Because I figured he must have been tired after walking up and down the mountains, so of course sleep would be inevitable, thus having some dreams must be unavoidable.

And besides, I've written the story, might as well post it. A story will be useless if nobody reads it, because it would only be a bunch of meaningless words... At least that's what a crazy language teacher once told me.

I hope the story was good to you. It was kind of written in a rush. I hope nothing was out of place.

Review? Please? Pretty please, with whipped cream and cherry on top?


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